


Damon and Edward Have Hot Man Sex and Damon Accidentally Gets Pregnant

by roomeight



Category: Blur, Twilight (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Parody, crackfic, twilight - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:57:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roomeight/pseuds/roomeight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mpreg/Sparkles/Flashlights/Curious Uses of Nutella/Weird Armpit Licking/Parody</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damon and Edward Have Hot Man Sex and Damon Accidentally Gets Pregnant

**Author's Note:**

> Written by kickthehobbit.

  
  
After the reunion of Blur, the lot of them decided to get together and do a tour in Forks, Washington.   
  
“Why Forks?” asked Graham, who was still on uneasy terms with the band, and thus unaware of Damon's new obsession.   
  
Damon, who had literally just finished reading Breaking Dawn, glared at him. “Forks is the setting of my favorite series of novels ever, Graham. I thought that you, of all people, would know this.”   
  
Alex sighed. “Damon, he just rejoined the band. Cut him some slack.”   
  
“Never,” said Damon dramatically. “This is the best series of books ever, and I can't believe that he doesn't know the significance of Forks. I thought he was cultured.”   
  
“I'm pretty sure you have to not have read them in order to be cultured,” murmured Alex, ducking a blow from Damon.   
  
  
“As if you'd know what culture is,” said Damon hotly. “You and your CHEESE. At least I've never made videos for the BBC about cheese!”   
  
“You leave my cheese out of this!” said Alex. “At least I've become known for something other than being the coked-out bassist for Blur, which is more than I can say for you.”   
  
“Er, the Gorillaz?” sniffed Damon. “Anyway, cheese isn't very important.”   
  
“Neither is your cartoon band,” snipped Alex.   
  
Damon glared at him, and seemed on the verge of saying something truly biting, when Graham stepped in.   
  
“So Forks . . .” began Graham, always the voice of reason.   
  
“We're going, and that's that,” said Damon firmly.   
  
  
Of course, it was not quite as easy as that. There was nowhere in Forks that was quite large enough for Blur to perform, and so the band had to settle for nearby Port Angeles instead.   
  
“I suppose Port Angeles will do, if there's nowhere else,” Damon said, looking dubiously at their hotel arrangements. “But I want to go into Forks at least once. I need to see the diner that they filmed all the scenes at, and the beach. La Push!”  
  
Alex and Graham exchanged a meaningful look. “You're perfectly free to go into Forks,” said Graham at least. “I don't think either of us will really mind.”   
  
“Fine,” said Damon grouchily. “If I have to go into Forks alone, I shall.”   
  
  
Weeks passed, and the time of the tour was finally upon them—and most importantly, the time of the band's foray into Port Angeles.   
  
“So, if you don't mind, I'm going to take a ride into Forks . . .” said Damon. “Since there's so much to see, and I really want to get a feel for where the books were set.”   
  
“Go right ahead,” said Graham wearily. The last few days had been filled with Damon talking non-stop about how exciting it was, to be in the state where Twilight was set.   
  
“All right then, I will.” Damon grabbed his things and promptly left in a snit. “I'll be back in time for the concert.”   
  
“Er,” said Dave, who hadn't been given any lines in the 'fic thus far because the author hadn't actually remembered his name whilst writing it, and had to look it up on wikipedia (for shame). “The concert's not for another four days.”   
  
“I know,” said Damon. “I made hotel arrangements already. God, I'm not twelve! You don't have to watch me!”   
  
“Wasn't planning on it,” said Dave quickly. “Have fun.”   
  
“Oh, but I will,” said Damon darkly, and darted out the hotel door.   
  
“So,” said Alex, after Damon had gone. “What are we going to do for four days?”   
  
Graham shrugged. “Alcohol's out.”   
  
“And I can't very well use cocaine after having been the BBC spokesperson against it,” commented Alex. “Well then. What does that leave?”   
  
“What are your thoughts on heroin?” asked Dave.   
  
“Too cliché,” said Graham.   
  
“Definitely too cliché,” said Alex glumly. “Well! Perhaps we could . . . ?” He gave the other two band members a meaningful glance, full of all sorts of subtext the author is probably too heavy handed to actually write in.   
  
“Erm,” said Dave. “I don't care what all the fan fiction says about Damon and Graham, I'm straight, at least, and not interested.”   
  
“I don't care what the fan fiction says about Damon and I either,” said Graham quickly. “I'm not into that.”   
  
“Dammit,” muttered Alex. “I suppose that leaves nothing other than touring the town.”   
  
  
Meanwhile, back in Forks, Damon was having a grand old time taking the _Twilight_ tour. “Is this really where Bella and Charlie used to get dinner?” he asked the tour guide, as they walked through the cafe.   
  
“Erm,” said the tour guide. “You do realize that they're imaginary people, right?”   
  
Damon, for reasons unbeknownst to the audience, because the writer didn't actually bother to add anything to his character description that would indicate that he had any idea that Twilight wasn't fiction, gasped. “Oh my God!” he cried. “They're not real? But everyone online was waiting for their Edward—oh God, have I been misled?”   
  
Without waiting for the tour guide's response, he tore out of the cafe, and into the quiet Forks afternoon (which was sunny and beautiful, because Stephenie Meyer was absolutely misguided when she said that Forks was always rainy), through the town and into the forest.   
  
  
In the forest, Damon kept running, crying, sobbing every now and then in frustration. “It's not real!” he cried. “It's not real!”   
  
“What's not real?” came a friendly voice, out of the trees.   
  
“ _Twilight_!” sobbed Damon, never thinking that there was something strange about running into someone else in the forest. “The tour guide told me it's not real!”   
  
“Well,” said the voice uncomfortably. “Perhaps it's not that the series of books isn't real, but that the events therein haven't . . . happened yet?”   
  
“What do you mean?” asked Damon, still sniffly. “They said it was a work of fiction; surely they wouldn't have lied.”   
  
“Say it was not so much a work of fiction as something predictive,” said the voice. “Though how predictive, the author could not have possibly known.”   
  
Damon, finally figuring out that there was something strange about disembodied voices in the forest, sighed. “Why can't I see you? Are you my conscience, trying to reassure me? Because if you are, there are lots of other things you should be reassuring me about, such as that one time that Alex and I stuck Graham's hand in warm water while he was sleeping, and made him piss himself, so that he thought he'd been drinking too much, and went through rehab even though he didn't have much of an alcohol problem, and now won't touch the stuff?”   
  
“I'm not your conscience,” said the voice, and there was a crunching sound as of someone stepping on leaves. “Look.”   
  
Into the bit of forest where Damon was standing stepped a beautiful man. His half-undone shirt revealed that he had the physique of a Greek god, his hair was perfectly flopped over one eye, and the other eye—the other eye was bright gold/topaz/amber/jasper/some other yellow precious material!  
  
“Oh my God,” breathed Damon. “You're Edward Cullen!”   
  
Edward blinked, and flipped the hair out of his eyes. “Got it in one. Though, shouldn't you be surprised or something?”   
  
“I don't think the author bothered to write it into my character,” said Damon candidly. “I mean—the books are real! I knew you existed! Where's Bella?”   
  
Edward sniffed the air hungrily. “I haven't met her yet. What is that intoxicating scent?”   
  
“Oh, what scent?” asked Damon, completely oblivious.   
  
“It smells a bit like leather and . . . spices. Old spices. Delicious old spices,” said Edward.   
  
“Oh, that's just my deodorant,” said Damon, still oblivious. “Do you like it?”   
  
“Like it?” said Edward. “I love it! I'd eat it, if I could!”   
  
“Well.” Damon pulled off his t-shirt. “I suppose you could, if you wanted to . . . I don't imagine it would taste very good.”   
  
He lifted his arm, and Edward licked hungrily at the waiting flesh.   
  
“Oh Damon,” he moaned. “It tastes wonderful. You taste wonderful!”   
  
There was an awkward silence.   
  
“How did you know my name?” asked Damon at last.   
  
“Well, er,” admitted Edward. “I, um, may have been a bit of a Blur fan?” He smiled sheepishly.   
  
“You're not really Edward Cullen, are you?” said Damon hotly. “Edward Cullen would never listen to Britpop rubbish!”   
  
“Oh, well, umm,” said Edward awkwardly. “Er. I am, and I can prove it.”   
  
“What, are you going to step into sunlight?” said Damon.   
  
“The thought had crossed my mind,” said Edward.  
  
“All right, we'd best get on with it,” said Damon. “I want to see if the sparkles are better than they were in the movie, anyway.”   
  
“I assure you, I don't look like Robert Pattison with body glitter,” said Edward huffily.   
  
“Prove it,” growled Damon. “Prove you're not just some crazy Blur fan that wanted to lick my armpit so you could posted to livejournal about what I taste like.”   
  
“I might do that anyway,” said Edward. “But all right.”   
  
He led Damon into a patch of sunlight, and carefully stripped off his shirt. The effect was instantaneous—glittering, as though he was covered in tiny diamonds, all over his body. As Damon stared at him, he felt a strange stirring in his blood. He licked his lips.   
  
“I don't believe you,” he said firmly. “You might have just covered your chest, but nothing else. Take off your trousers.”  
  
Edward sighed, and fiddled with the button on his black corduroys. “Promise not to laugh?” he asked. “My, umm. Licking your armpit was rather intoxicating.”   
  
“Off,” said Damon firmly, and pulled Edward's trousers down.   
  
Outlined through the thin fabric of Edward's boxers, Damon could see the beginnings of an impressive erection.   
  
“Nice,” said Damon weakly. Edward's legs sparkled too.   
  
“Are you satisfied?” said Edward, clearly embarrassed.   
  
“You might have covered your legs, too,” said Damon huskily, his own cock stirring strangely at the sight of Edward's magnificent bod. “I want to see if your bits sparkle too.”   
  
“My . . . bits?” He sounded confused.   
  
“Your bits,” confirmed Damon. “You know. Your altogether? Your kit and caboodle? Your . . . cock?” He brushed a finger over the front of Edward's boxers, tracing the outline of his erection.   
  
Edward silently tugged his boxers down. His bits sparkled even more brilliantly than the rest of him.   
  
“Are you satisfied?” he asked, slightly uncomfortable, as Damon stared at him.   
  
“Not yet,” said Damon. Sinking onto his knees, he quickly slid his tongue up Edward's cock.  
  
“Jesus Christ,” moaned Edward. “I didn't think all the fan fiction was accurate!”   
  
“Neither did I,” Damon admitted, pulling his mouth away. “I've never been attracted to another man the way I've been attracted to you.”   
  
“Technically, I'm not a man,” corrected Edward. “I'm a vampire.”   
  
“You have a penis,” pointed out Damon. “I think that counts.”   
  
“You have a poin—oh sweet Christ,” moaned Edward, as Damon wrapped his fingers around his prick. “But does it matter?”   
  
“Not if you've got lube,” growled Damon.   
  
“I've got a jar of Nutella in my as-of-yet-conveniently unmentioned bag,” said Edward.   
  
“I dunno,” said Damon dubiously, slicking his hand over Edward's cock. “I read somewhere you're not supposed to use that as lube—I mean, think about what it looks like.”   
  
“I'm beyond caring,” moaned Edward, as Damon did wonderful things to his bits. “And anyway, I don't think it matters.”   
  
“You've got a point,” said Damon. He grabbed the Nutella, and opening the jar, slicked it over Edward's quivering pink (and diamond-sparkly) rosebud. “Your body is gorgeous,” he added, pulling off his pants.   
  
One finger, two finger, three finger was all the more foreplay Edward got, before Damon was   
buried into him up to the hilt.   
  
“Oh God,” he moaned.   
  
“Oh God,” moaned Damon.   
  
Edward's come was sparkly, too.   
  
  
_Four Days Later . . ._   
  
  
“You know, I haven't heard from Damon in a while,” said Dave.   
  
“I haven't either,” said Graham.   
  
“Nor me,” said Alex.   
  
They exchanged glances.   
  
“Suppose this means we need to go into Forks,” said Graham heavily. “Fuck.”   
  
“Fuck,” agreed Alex. “But he's our lead singer, and we're not exactly Blur without him.”   
  
“Fine, fine,” said Dave. “Let's go.”   
  
Together, they set out for Forks.   
  
  
Meanwhile, back in Forks, Damon was bent over a toilet, retching up most of breakfast, his abdomen swollen hideously.   
  
“I don't understand what could possibly be wrong,” he wailed at Edward. “It can't be something I ate—all I've had since I got here is Nutella and banana sandwiches!”   
  
“That's all you've wanted to eat, too,” said Edward thoughtfully. He yelled for his foster father, Carlisle, who was conveniently a doctor as well as a vampire.   
  
“Coming, Edward!” said Carlisle.   
  
“Hurry!” cried Edward. “Damon is really quite ill!”   
  
Carlisle cheerfully let himself into the washroom, and, ignoring the fact that he was vomiting, greeted Damon. “Hello! You're Damon from Blur. Could I maybe get an autograph?”   
  
Damon shook his head, and continued dry-heaving. “Now's not a good time,” he said, into the toilet bowl.   
  
“Well, maybe later.” Carlisle examined Edward thoroughly. “Has the thought of a lower bowel perforation occurred to either of you?”   
  
Damon shook his head. “I don't bottom.”   
  
“Then, hm.” Carlisle thought for a moment. “Have you—been using condoms?”   
  
“Er,” said Damon. “I don't think I follow.”   
  
“When you and Edward are, um, intimate,” said Carlisle, turning very faintly pink. “Do you use a rubber?”   
  
Damon shrugged. “He's a vampire. What am I going to catch from him?”   
  
“Not what,” said Carlisle. “Who.”   
  
“I don't follow,” said Edward.   
  
“Has Damon, um, performed oral favors for you, Edward?” asked his foster father.   
  
“Well, the first night he was down here—oh God,” said Edward. “You don't think?”   
  
“Did he swallow?” asked Carlisle grimly.   
  
“Yes,” said Damon, dry-heaving. “A good partner always swallows, and besides, it was sparkly. I didn't want it getting all over my shirt. I didn't know if the sparkles would wash out.”   
  
“That explains it, then,” said Carlisle. “He's pregnant.”   
  
“But you can't get pregnant from oral sex!” cried Edward. “Otherwise, millions of teenaged girls would get pregnant every year!”   
  
“Millions of teenaged girls aren't also going down on their vampire lovers,” said Carlisle. “Your sperm is potent. He's pregnant.”   
  
“Oh God,” said Damon. “I can't be pregnant. What will the rest of the band think?”   
  
The rest of the band conveniently chose that moment to walk into the washroom as well, having inexplicably arrived at the Cullen house.   
  
“We'd think this is what happens when you love a book a little too much,” said Graham tiredly. “And we'd probably urge you to get an abortion.”   
  
“Never!” cried Edward and Damon in unison.   
  
“This is the product of our love,” said Edward hotly.   
  
“You can't expect me to get rid of the life I've created with Edward just because you don't agree with it!” said Damon. “I love this man—er, vampire—and I want to share our child with him!”   
  
“But Damon,” said Alex reasonably. “You don't have a vagina. How are you going to give birth?”   
  
“Does that matter?” said Damon hotly. “Love will find a way!”   
  
“Actually, erm,” said Graham. “He does have a point. Staying pregnant will probably destroy your body.”   
  
Carlisle nodded. “They're right. We need to perform surgery to remove the fetus, before it develops too far and wrecks your internal organs.”   
  
“But even if it does, Edward will turn me into a vampire, and I'll stay young and pretty forever!” argued Damon.   
  
“Er, actually,” said Edward. “I'm not gay.”   
  
“But you bottom so well!” said Damon. “Remember the bit with the flashlights, last night?”   
  
Edward winced. “I'm not gay. I'm supposed to meet Bella and fall in love with her. Would you deny me that?”   
  
“I thought you loved me,” said Damon tearfully.   
  
“Well,” said Edward. “Um.”   
  
“Why did you argue for keeping the child, then?” sobbed Damon.   
  
“I didn't want you to catch on that I didn't love you quite that quickly!” said Edward. “But you had to go ahead and ruin it.” He glared at his lover. “Dammit, Damon.”   
  
“Right then,” said Carlisle. “Since no one's going to be turning any members of Blur into a vampire, perhaps we should get him into surgery?”   
  
“Never!” said Damon. “I'll at least carry the child to term!” He rose to his feet, and staggered toward the door.   
  
Before he could get very far, though, Graham thoughtfully hit him over the head with a heavy toothbrush holder, knocking him out cold.   
  
“Better perform that abortion fast,” he said to Carlisle. “And, er, stitch up his head too, while you're at it.”   
  
“Will do,” said Carlisle cheerfully. “But if the lot of you wouldn't mind signing some CDs . . . ?”  
  
Dave, Graham, and Alex exchanged a meaningful look. “Well, I suppose,” said Alex. “As long as it's not our first album.”   
  
“No, no,” said Carlisle. “Just Parklife.”   
  
“That works then,” said Alex. “Let's go.”   
  
  
“Well,” said Graham, on the plane back to Britain. “That turned out all right, then.”   
  
“I can't believe you made me give up the child,” sobbed Damon. “It was going to be my reminder of Edward!”   
  
“It was an abomination of nature,” said Alex. “Give it up.”   
  
Damon glared at him. “It was not an abomination, Alex! Take that back!”   
  
And so it was that Blur broke up for the second time.   
  
THE END


End file.
